


Acting Christmas

by EdnaV



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group E [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Comedy, Fluff, I'm not saying that it's snowing but it might, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), London, M/M, it's Christmas and your gift is fluffy domestic bliss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdnaV/pseuds/EdnaV
Summary: It’s Christmas in London, and Crowley finds out something about Aziraphale’s past.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group E [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937872
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Acting Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Antichristmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649022) by [Thyra279](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyra279/pseuds/Thyra279). 



> Written for the BT Tower Telephone Event. Thank you to all the mods for turning a brilliant idea into shared creativity!
> 
> Inspired by the [redacted] version of Thyra’s Antichristmas.
> 
> Last but not least, an immense thank you to Lurlur for the beta and the support!

They help each other to put on their coats: camelhair for Aziraphale, black cashmere for Crowley. As they leave the Royal Opera House and walk through Covent Garden, untouched by the throngs of tourists and last-minute shoppers, Aziraphale hums to himself,  _ “Se vuol ballare, Signor Contino...” _

Crowley takes his husband’s hand. It’s the most natural thing in the world,[1] even if it’s something they’ve been allowing themselves to do only for a few months. He squeezes it gently and directs Aziraphale’s attention towards a busker who’s managing to juggle five baubles while dancing to the tune of  _ Fairytale of New York _ . 

The rendition of the country’s most improbably unironically loved Christmas song ends, and the busker calls for attention. 

“Now, I need a volunteer!”

Aziraphale smiles his most angelic smile.

Crowley freezes.

“Angel,  _ don’t.” _

“I didn’t do anything!” protests the angel.

“If you even  _ think _ of trying to  _ entertain  _ the crowds, I’m going to commit some unspeakable evil deed. I’m still a demon, you know?”

Aziraphale smiles and teases his beloved. “Of course you are. Demon, fearsome demon. Serpent of Eden, terror of houseplants. Not aardvark, as we discussed on our first date. But I still don’t see what’s wrong with my acting skills.  _ Will himself...” _

_ “Will _ was offering you a costume to wear because he wanted to see you take it off,” says Crowley, rolling his eyes.  


“Maybe,” mumbles Aziraphale. “But in my role as a Principality I have been known to be a good actor, especially as a  _ straight man.  _ It’s not an easy role...”

“...especially for you...”

Aziraphale stare would terrify anyone except the only being who’s fluent in the language of Aziraphale’s little gestures. Crowley knows that stare means  _ “Isn’t that too obvious a joke?”, _ and  _ “You can’t offend me, I’m proud of being gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide”, _ and  _ “I’m so sorry I wasn’t proud of loving you for such a long time”. _ And, as everything in that language, it means  _ “I love you, my husband.” _

“Hey, not complaining,” Crowley replies.

“I certainly hope so. Anyway, you should be aware that I had an important role in the...” he makes a gesture that almost grasps all the festivities that surround them “...itself.”

Crowley takes the change in topic as his cue to move towards Soho and save Aziraphale from the temptation of making a total fool of himself.

“I didn’t know.”

“Oh, yes. Gabriel asked me to direct the shepherds to the manger. He felt that he’d already played his part with Mary, and now it was my turn to shine.”

Crowley rolls his eyes at the mention of his husband’s former boss. “Hanging out with the big names, good, spending time with the crew, bad. It sounds like Gabriel alright.”

Aziraphale sighs. It’s _ “I’m sorry it took me so long to leave Heaven for Our Own Side”, _ and  _ “I wish you had been there”, _ and  _ “We have so much lost time to make up for, so many stories to tell each other”. _ And, once again,  _ “I love you, my husband.” _

“You were in Rome at the time, weren’t you?” he asks.

“Yep. Assignment at the Emperor’s palace.”

“You didn’t miss much. The inn was lovely, but the food was... well, one shouldn’t complain...”

“But...”

_ “But. _ ”

Crowley smiles, proud of a husband who looks for creature comforts even in the most improbable situations. Then he’s suddenly overcome by a terrible doubt.

“Angel... the inn.” he says, stopping in his tracks. “I swear that I’m not going to make fun of you, but  _ I have to know.  _ Did you take the last room?”

Aziraphale’s voice is almost a whisper. “...maybe?” 

“Did you ever tell...?” asks Crowley, giggling and pointing his index upwards.

“I didn’t think that there was any need for them to know.” Aziraphale replies, not even trying to hide his satisfaction for a mischief well done. “I simply left it out of the request of expenses refund. And if they’d ever asked, you know, dear... I’m not a bad actor.”

#### Footnotes

1. Unlike, for instance, walking through Covent Garden on the 20th December without bumping into at least two dozen tourists and last-minute shoppers.↩

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Opera](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650696) by [Janara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janara/pseuds/Janara)




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